The Cliche
by Captain Atticus
Summary: The story of how a desperate fanfiction author succumbed to the power of reviews. This is required reading.


**Disclaimer: The socks are still mine, and are on my feet. I do not own Maximum Ride or fanfiction .net.**

**A/N: Now that this is actually done, I feel like a bit of a pretentious jerk. Can't be helped, I suppose.**

Once upon a time, there was an author of fanfiction. This author was a genius. One day, after hours of slaving away at a rather angst-filled oneshot, she decided to write a nice, light romance piece about Fang and Max. For moment, she sat behind her computer, fingers drumming softly on the keyboard as she thought.

Inspiration struck her in a manner rather reminiscent of a grenade. Instantly, she set to work. Her fingers flew from key to key, creating a peculiar, uneven song, one where the rhythm of letters was interrupted periodically by the flat tone of the spacebar. She poured her gift of ingenuity, her endowment of insight, and her blessing of randomness into her piece, and she even added in a small portion of her soul for good measure.

When the author at last finished her masterpiece, she logged onto the great and mysterious fanfiction .net. She proudly posted her writing, already anticipating the admiring reviews she would receive. Yet, she knew from long experience that checking her email every fifteen seconds would not make those reviews come any faster, so the author began reviewing other stories, thinking that perhaps their creators would return the favor and review hers.

But woe of woes! The third story she upon which she clicked bore an uncanny resemblance to her own! It was not, as might have been suspected, a manner of plagiarism, as this piece had been posted before her own, but rather a manner of lack of creativity. The author's idea had not been original enough!

Frantic now, she browsed through other stories, and saw that many had used the same idea. She moaned in shame and horror. How could she have done such a thing? How could she have used a cliché? Weary with defeat, she returned to check her profile, hoping no one had read the piece. She would have to delete it at once, lest another author discover this horrible thing, this cliché, she had succumbed to.

Wait! What was this, a review? She cringed, knowing instinctively that it must be a flame. Still, she clicked the link for the story's review page, feeling that she would deserve every stinging word. As the page loaded, the author inhaled deeply, seeking to brace herself. Suddenly, the evil of all evils, an ad, appeared. The author was forced to click past it with a growl, now morbidly eager for her judgment.

At last, the page had loaded. The author stared blankly at the review for a moment, not sure whether her eyes could be trusted. Perhaps she needed glasses, or, better yet, a monocle. A monocle, of course, would require a top hat, but that could surely be arranged. If not, perhaps she could raid Abraham Lincoln's grave. He was supposed to have had one. Still, considering his height, it probably would have been rather silly to bury him with his top hat on. Maybe they had just given him an extremely long coffin, or flattened his top hat.

The author shook herself. Now was not the time. She squinted and leaned closer to her computer screen, attempting valiantly to translate the jumble of symbols and letters that made up her review.

"_j00 r amayzin!"_ it read. _"i want more! updat soon plz!"_

It was a positive review. The author at once replied excitedly, promising to update the very next day despite her promise that this would be a single-chaptered short story. She had received a positive review, and with so little wait!

Her brilliant mind whirled, contemplating the wondrous possibilities! Did it really matter if the idea was unoriginal if her readers loved it? Never mind that her reader had been unable to use proper grammar, the review had given her a nice, warm, fuzzy feeling. Even better, when she checked her email, she had received two more! Her tragedies had never earned this much attention, and certainly not so quickly!

"I know!" she exclaimed. "I'll write more stories like this one. I'll get tons of reviews, and maybe even fans! People will favorite my stories! People will say I'm the best!"

Faster than someone could have stolen Abe's top hat, she had concocted the perfect formula for reviews. If she wrote a romance story about Max and Fang ("Fax," they called it), it would do better than something about Iggy ever could. In fact, romance in general was an important factor (but faxy fax of ultra-uber faxness was the best). Secondly, everyone loved humor! With a few overused (the preferred term was tried and true) jokes, she could have her audience laughing uproariously! There were, of course, other factors (vampires, for example, seemed to be quite popular. Imagine a humorous story about Max and Fang being vampires that fell in love!).

Happily, she began working on these new, reader-friendly ideas. She paid no attention to plotlines, grammar, or staying in character. Her readers didn't care about _those_ kinds of paltry things. Her readers didn't care how poor the actual writing was. They _loved_ her stories. Her stories were the _bestest in the whole universe_.

And so it was that the author fell.

Now I urge you, writers and readers, creators and critiquers, do not make the same mistakes. Never be afraid to write about the Gasman or actually give Nudge a personality! Go forth, and help your fellow artists! Steer them away from the perils of clichés and Mary Sues! Teach them that the reading of sadder and less romantic fiction is indeed sanctioned! Tell them that staying in character is vital!

Above all, kind readers, review wisely and truthfully.

Above all, gentle writers, create originally and fearlessly.

Above all, everyone else, leave Abraham Lincoln's top hat alone, or else. That's my territory.

**A/N: Review now. Please. This one doesn't fit in the formula; it's hopeless if you don't. Don't depress the author.**


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